


Of Sparks, Fears and Tragedies

by whenwordsmakesense



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Time Travel, Canon Divergence, Declarations Of Love, Druid Alan Deaton, Emotionally heavy chapters, Fear & Prejudice, M/M, Magical Claudia Stilinski, Other, POV Alternating, Panic Attacks, Post-Canon, Sacrifices, Spark Stiles Stilinski, Talia's husband's name is Nathaniel Hale, Temporary Death, The Sheriff's name is Noah John Stilinski, cuddles and snuggles
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-01
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-13 23:01:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29783403
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whenwordsmakesense/pseuds/whenwordsmakesense
Summary: WIP: Another Time-Travel, fix-it AU.Stiles is a Spark, and he resets time. He's the last of the Pack, and last of humanity. A certain Sourwolf is with him, for now. But will he be with him when Stiles attempts the biggest risk ever? And given his life, this is a big risk.PS: The summary will change with the tags as the chapters go up. At the moment I'm feeling pretty pumped, so expect a new chapter every week.
Relationships: Claudia Stilinski & Stiles Stilinski, Derek Hale & Laura Hale, Derek Hale & The Hales, Derek Hale's Father/Talia Hale, Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Talia Hale & Claudia Stilinski
Comments: 4
Kudos: 63





	1. An End, A New Beginning; Words I hoped that just would have remained normal words.

**Author's Note:**

> A/N:  
> 1.Major Character Death:  
> This is a Dystopian (sort of) AU. All but Sterek are alive, but they also sacrifice themselves. It’s not overly Graphic, but please go forward of your own volition.  
> 2.Rating, Mature  
> Themes of Death, its impact, and other related mental trauma and such would be spoken about. The rating might increase to explicit for violence, so look out for that. Again, go forward of your own voilition.  
> 3.Update Schedule  
> This is a Work In Progress, and the chapters will be written once per week. I am my own beta, so all errors are my own, as well as my delays. Kindly keep reminding me to post, I am a lot lazy, so. 
> 
> I think that’s it for now. Enjoy the first Chapter!

The night air was cool, cool as the last body they’d come across. It was the same as all the others, shot through everywhere, blood pooling around the body, the red of the blood looking startling against the grey pavement of yet another dead city. It was horrific, but he couldn’t dwell on it. Not when their survival depended on him being focused. 

“I am still not okay with this,” Derek growls, sniffing the air to check if any hunter is still here. The way his shoulders relax just a tad, there aren’t. 

“Neither am I. I mean, come on dude, 13. That is the Devil’s goddamn number,” His magic hums as he nears the desired location, his feet carrying him faster and faster, the metal taste of blood still on his tongue, like it always is these days. 

“Stiles,” Derek growls, and Stiles sees under the angry sound, hears the fear and worry that Derek has tried to hide for so long that even now, even with him, he can’t just let go of his habit. “It’s dangerous.” A hand pulls at his wrist, and it is a testament to how fucked up his life has been up till now that the sudden jerky movement doesn’t even startle him. Stiles misses his  flaily days. 

“I know,” Stiles leans in, kisses his -- he doesn’t even know what. There had always been a charge to their interactions since the they day met, but they weren’t friends then. Barely allies. And then Derek had left with Braeden, and almost a year later, come back home with him. It wasn’t because they’d wished it to happen, it was yet another life-or-death situation that had pulled them together, but this time Derek hadn’t left. He couldn’t, but that was beside the point.  _ Derek _ _ hadn’t wanted to leave.  _ And he hadn’t. He’d stuck back in Beacon Hills, stuck with Stiles, and this time, there had been more tension between them, what with his own romance with Lydia Martin and the threat of Monroe. And then Lydia had admitted she didn’t think they were a good idea, and they were done, just like that. Then Derek was there, with him, always with him. And there were the hunters. 

Hunters: untrained, terrified, humans. Fighting off those who were only trying to keep themselves alive was hard, and slowly, they all paid the price for it. Everyone who was on the other side. First it was Mason, caught between Corey and a hunter. Then it was Satomi’s remaining pack, and as the truth was spread globally, it was the world against them. The Nogitsune’s “Chaos has come again.” had never seemed as ominous before. Each day saw a new death, a new threat. Each day became a fight for survival, and each day it became clear who would survive: Hunters.  _ Gerard Argent.  _

It had been three years since, since it all, since that first death in this unending, fanatic war, and today of all days, Stiles wanted to know. 

“Derek, what are we?” 

Derek raises his head, eyes vulnerable in a way he so rarely shows. Stiles gulps back his  _ I love you.  _ “We are Derek and Stiles,” he says, like that’s it. That means everything. Maybe it does. But he needs more. 

“You trusted me. You have always trusted me. You have always been there for me. And in the last three years, we have grown closer, we have kissed, had sex, known each other as intimately as we physically can, Derek,  _ we have suffered together,  _ Derek. And if today is going to be my last day, I  jus \- just, I want to know,” he was crying, he could feel it in the way his body was shaking, the grief, fear, longing to be with his whole pack passing through him in this one moment he was giving himself. Derek caressed his cheek, making their fingers interlace, as he let him cry, maybe for the first time since his father had died two years ago. 

“I am telling you. We are Derek and Stiles, the wolf and the human, two people who are broken in two different ways, able to mend only because they are whole when pieced together.” 

“Derek,” Stiles whined, pulling him in, kissing him desperately, like a man starved. 

“Stiles. I love  you, I have for a- a long time. I’m sorry I didn’t say anything before, but I want you to know. I need you to know,” Derek whispered as they separated, the words spoken in the breath they shared. Like they share their heart. 

“Oh God,  Sourwolf , how can I ever top that? A meagre I love you won’t cut it,” he teases, giddy with Derek in his arms, in his life, even if it isn’t going to last any longer. 

“From you, it means everything. I don’t deserve you,” Derek marks his neck, marks him as  _ his,  _ and Stiles moans, unabashed, in the empty streets of his hometown. Where it all started. 

“Derek, I love you, oh how much I love you, but so help me God if you say anything like that again.  _ I  _ don’t deserve  _ you,  _ but since we’re here, let’s just fuck it and let’s earn each other.” 

“You’re a such a dork. Why do I love you?” 

“Beats me. Can’t say I hate it though,” 

The night sky turns into the slightly brighter shades of oncoming morning, and it is only then they continue their journey to the last  Nemeton . They’re both smiling, touching each other, the bodies around them of no meaning to them. 

They stumble into the familiar clearing of the magical stump, the air turning serious for the first time since last night. Derek kisses him, a bruising, desperate, loving, and worried kiss, letting him go only when Stiles pats him on the back. 

“We can fight them,” Derek tries, and Stiles is shaking his head even before he’s started talking. 

“No, love, no. We can’t, there’s no one left,” 

“We are, I am. Stiles, I love you,” even now, hearing Derek say it, it brings a smile to his face. 

“And I you. But this is the only way.”

He doesn’t want to do this. Sacrifice himself in front of Derek, bleeding on this stupid stump because the voices from the other end proclaimed that the last of the  Nemeton has the power to start the world again -- RIP Lydia, but he doesn’t trust them. Lydia, yes. The Voices, no -- especially when an iron will  is the one to offer themselves. But he has to. He has to. 

And  so he does. Derek claws his throat, crying as he does, but he does it. Kills another person he loves, yet again, because he loves them. Sobs wreck him, even though his throat hurts, and Derek shushes him. The last thing Stiles sees is Derek slashing his own throat, muttering “I will always love you, Mieczyslaw Stilinski.” Stiles forces himself to believe that everything will be fine, that nothing will be wrong this time around, that everything that happened to make him come to this point never happens. 

He doesn’t know if it works, but he does know that whatever it is he is sleeping on is not the stupid fucking trunk. He feels wrong, like his body is not his, but it isn’t new, not entirely. His new body is familiar in a way that old songs are, those you once loved and haven’t heard in so long, but then you do and it’s different, weird, but still familiar. If nothing else, then he hopes that this is heaven, even if for a second to see his parents. 

What he doesn’t expect is to have his mom wake him up, force him into the bathroom, and demand for him to get ready, like he’s 8 again and he’ll be late for school if he doesn’t. 

Memories of running around the house with Scott, little, chubby little Scotty, comes to his mind, and he has to brace himself against the wall in the shower stall to keep standing. It worked, it worked! And apparently, he’s in his young body, with all his memories... to stop things from happening? That can be the only explanation, right? 

In the ten minutes he gets in the shower, he cries in relief. He cries in grief, in loss, and then he cries for love, because he is here but Derek is not and  goddamnit he can’t lose him! But he can’t restart time again, he doesn’t think so, and Derek is obviously going to fall in love with Paige and live with her all his life because Stiles won’t let Derek wallow in any kind of guilt again. He is petty enough to admit to himself he’d willingly let her die, if not for Derek. 

He takes another minute to adjust to the fact that he is a 21-year-old in the body of a 9-year-old. Nine and a half years he’s lived without his mother, and now he will have to see her die again. Maybe this is karma, he did kill Allison, Aiden, and those other people; the deputies, the nurses and doctors, the civilians. He certainly deserves it. 

Another surprise passes through him when he really pays attention to his mother. She is healthy, very healthy, he notices first. He bitterly thinks how is it that the liveliest people are taken first from this world, and he’s comparing his original memories with the current one to notice the difference in his sick mother and his alive mother, when his magic shudders inside him. 

“Ooh, it’s cold,” mom says, closing the windows before putting out plates on the dining table. Dad is still in the shower. 

“It’s not, mom,” Stiles says, frowning. It’s not. But he can see the goosebumps on his mom’s hands, feel his magic shudder again and the goosebumps rise. “Mom,” he chokes out. Could it be?

“Mischief, what’s wrong, baby?”

His magic shudders again, and as his mom comes closer, he notices. The layer of black on his mom, an intricate spell of memory woven around a small orange ball of light he can sense inside her. He knows those woven lines. He’s seen them before. 

He doesn’t know what it means to be a Spark, not really. The first time he’d even heard the word he had been busy running for his life, for other’s life, and had barely thought about the slight inflection in Deaton’s voice as he’d said it. But then the night had happened, that night outside the club, and he’d been scared he wasn’t entirely human. And then he’d forgotten again that word, that fear the next day. But as the days passed, he learnt more and more about this new world, and he knows enough to confidently say that ‘Spark’ is not just  _ any  _ word. 

It’s the rarest one. And dangerous. Because being a Spark means unlimited power, because being a Spark means able to manipulate energy with as simple an action as belief. 

And he knows he is one. If there had ever been any doubt before, right now, standing here in his childhood home’s kitchen with his mother, sensing the power thrumming inside her, the distress coming off of her magic in waves, it has vanished. This, right here, is no heaven or afterlife or whatever, but exactly what he’d hoped for. Exactly what he’d believed into  happening . 

Well. Not  _ exactly  _ exactly . But close enough. 

“Brace yourself.” He says, and before mom can ask, he’s unraveled the cloak of Deaton’s magic from  hers , their magic mingling, his being smothered to an affectionate death by hers. 

It’s not pleasant. His mom is drowsy, disoriented, swaying on her feet. Stiles doesn’t let her fall, instinctively catches her with his magic, and rests her on the chair. She looks as if she fell asleep right there, and Stiles doesn’t bother making the situation any other way. He hasn’t forgotten his dad is home, and that he might have heard their little exchange, so he tries to remember what wrongs could there be for a kid his physical age. Surprisingly, the answer is not so different than his real age self. 

His dad comes into the room, and Stiles is caught off-guard with the way he is magic free. Does that mean Deaton kept a leash on his mom for  _ years?!  _

“Kiddo, what’s wrong? You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” dad hugs him, ruffles his hair. Stiles tries not to cry. He doesn’t succeed, not completely. How does he tell his dad he hasn’t seen one, but two ghosts? That he will be seeing more, in every single person he passes? That this kid here, his dad’s little kiddo, is not a kid anymore?

He doesn’t say anything like that. Instead, he lies. This time though, he vows to tell the truth when necessary. He knows himself enough to predict that sometime in the future -- technically his past -- he will break down, solely overwhelmed with the memories of a world that no longer exists, and never will, if it’s up to him. He’ll have to tell someone, even if he’d rather not. 

His dad hugs him again when he says he had a nightmare, a very bad one, and then snorts when he tells him how his mom just sat there and fell asleep. 

“I didn’t know she got this exhausted,” his dad comments before sitting them both down for breakfast. Stiles makes a face, because  ew , seriously? He does not want to know about his parents  _ doing the deed. _

Stiles plays along, talks to his dad about everything that the little Stiles -- as in the 9-year-old,  ya people -- got up to yesterday when his dad wasn’t home. It’s surprisingly easy to slip back into this life, as if what he remembered was truly just that, a nightmare, but his magic humming in response to his good mood says otherwise. 

Mom doesn’t wake up till dad is almost out of the house; it works out well, as his dad was going to wake her up anyways, you do  _ not  _ leave a kid his physical age alone at home. Dad kisses her goodbye, ruffles his hair, tells him to be good for mom, then leaves for work as a Deputy of Beacon County. Stiles thinks how weird it will be to hear people not call his dad the Sheriff, at least for a while. 

Both he and mom stand on the porch, waving goodbye until dad’s car turns on the corner and his cruiser isn’t visible anymore. As soon as they’re inside, he feels wards, protective, strong wards go up around the house. He recognizes all of them, from the simple magic alarm system to banishing those with ill intent. He’s impressed by the power and efficiency, but it’s still weak for his tastes. He adds a second set of wards outside his mom’s wards, already aware that his cover won’t hold with her. 

“Who are you?” Mom asks, confused and scared. Stiles stills, hoping that the fact he hasn’t been banished from here will be enough. Apparently, it isn’t. “What have you done to my son? And did you alter my memories?!”

“Mom,” he says quietly. “Mom.” He tries again, because he can’t. Not again. This is exactly how she had looked when she was sick. How she had  _ looked _ at  _ him.  _ “It’s me, Mischief. Your Mieczyslaw, the son you named after your own father. I’m just not the one you remember,” he winces. “Oops. Not how I thought it will sound like. I meant like, your memories about me are fine. It’s your magic that Deaton had made you forget,”

His mom inches just a little closer to him, her magic encompassing him, poking him everywhere on his little body. His magic responds in kind, shining brighter than ever, his white thread of magic tugging on his mom’s orange one. “Your magic, you,” she trails off, her eyes shiny. She ducks her head, and when she looks back at him, her eyes are intense. Stiles feels like he’s looking in a mirror: he has always known he takes away after his mother in most ways, but to watch it here and now, to watch her control her emotions like this, her eyes hardening with her resolve to keep it that way; they are more similar than he could have thought. 

“I am a Spa-” he starts, but his mom speaks over him, cutting him off. Not much can surprise him these days, but her words, they do. 

“ So the Prophecy came true. How old are you really, Mieczyslaw?”

“Wha- Prophecy?!”

Mom smiles, a small, sad smile. Motions him to settle on the couch. He complies, eyes wide, his body out of co-ordination for the first time in so long. When they sit, facing each other, his mom rubs her eyes. Chants a spell. It’s a barrier spell; no kind of supernatural creature or device will be able to pick up whatever is being said here. He casts a questioning look at his mom. She nods her head and says, “I’m surprised I didn’t tell you, in your time.” she adds, when he is just more confused. 

He looks down at his hands. Smiles sadly. “Yeah, well. You never got a chance to,” 

He knows she understands when she looks away, a tear finally falling down her cheek. She doesn’t pry how, why, when, and he’s grateful. He has had enough of shock  today, he doesn’t need to add more to his list. “I have never spoken a word of my side of my family. It’s because I don’t have one,” well, there goes his wish. His mom says it, that she doesn’t have any family but just them, so casually, that he suspects she’s long ago gotten used to the fact. He wonders if his dad was the one to make her smile and laugh, like he’s tried to with Derek, or if it was the memory spell that let her forget her grief. “And partly because of Deaton’s spell, you say?”

“I recognize his work.” 

“Partly because of that. But today I will tell you about them.” And she does. She talks about the first Spark, she tells him how only their bloodline has the, for lack of a better word, magic to create them. How their family -- they don’t have a family name, it keeps changing, and Stiles feels his throat dry as he listens to the reason for that -- is feared by others. Their power is too much, and because of one particular rumor, they’ve been hunted for centuries upon centuries. 

“I am guessing the rumor was about the prophecy, or related to it somehow,” he says, mind working every which way. “Or that a Spark will bring about the end of the world?” He laughs, a hollow laugh. Of course. Stiles Stilinski  _ would  _ be responsible for billions dying. And he doesn’t miss the fact the  _ Fear  _ seems to be a running theme in his life. Even before his life. His family. Mom. Derek’s family. The whole deal with Matt and the Kanima. The Nogitsune, with its chaos and its unpredictability. Everything after. No doubt he was supposed to bring the end of the fucking world. 

“No.” His mother cuts in, stern. He stops. “It was rumored a member of this family will bring about the end of the world, yes. But it’s not you. Ironic, I’ll admit.” he starts to speak, but she doesn’t let him. She died, she had died, how could she be responsible for what happened, or will happen? “I understand I was long dead when you discovered who you truly were,” at his nod, she continues, “which means I wasn’t here to help in times of need. And even before that, apparently, I had been fooled by a freaking Emissary.”

“I am over 21, mom,” he says, smiling. She smiles back. Cards her fingers through his hair, and he leans into her. 

“Still a kid for me. And I want my kid to know whatever prompted you to reset the timeline isn’t your fault,”

“You know about-?”

“It has been written down in the fates since long. Every family has their secrets, ours is to guard the truth about the end of the world.”

He inhales. Exhales shakily. Taps his fingers on the back of the couch, lets his magic hum and remember, the way it felt to hold Derek in his arms, to kiss him. To feel his heartbeat, beating and alive, when everyone else was dead. When  _ he  _ was mostly dead. It settles him, anchors him. Makes him feel centered. When he opens his eyes, his mom is looking at him, smiling the brightest he has ever seen. Ever. “What?” he asks, blushing. It just makes her giggle. 

“I see you’ve found the Alpha of your Heart,” she says. He freezes at that. She rubs her hands on his arms to calm him. “I suppose I have held off on the Prophecy for long.”

“An hour,” he agrees, still reeling with that comment. He aches for him, aches for Derek. 

She smiles. “So, here goes nothing. Remember, this is very old, and has been translated, so it's not... exact. But close enough: 

**_ Death comes for all _ **

**_ All but belief; but a heart black. _ **

**_ There shall be a time of  _ ** **_ forgetfulness, _ **

**_ Of Hatred so potent, it burns; _ **

**_ Of Revenge, sung in blood; _ **

**_ Of a Battle that ends in Death.  _ **

**_ The wrong Alpha leads to Alphas; _ **

**_ The True Alpha yet loses, but he perseveres. _ **

**_ For he is the Alpha of the Heart; _ **

**_ Of a Heart Black, but his.  _ **

**_ Of a Strength only he possesses, _ **

**_ For he will be the one to bring back what was long gone; _ **

**_ Of a Time only lived by him and his.” _ **

Stiles’s face grows pale and pale, his limbs akimbo as he hears the words.  _ Heart Black.  _ He was touched by Darkness, by it. He can feel it, inside him, if he focuses enough.  _ There shall be a time of forgetfulness.  _ That is clearly about his mom.  _ Hatred so potent it burns.  _ Kate’s plan that burned the Hales.  _ Revenge sung in blood.  _ That could be Peter, as well as Matt.  _ Of a Battle that ends in Death.  _ That could be Jackson, or Allison and Aiden, or so many of the others. Or it could be the truth of the end; about what truly happened at the end of the line.  _ The Wrong Alpha.  _ Scott? But he was the True Alpha, but Deaton had told them that, and should even trust that guy when he is the reason that he lost his mom? _ Leads to Alphas.  _ The Alpha Pack. They were actually here for Scott, so was Scott truly not supposed to be the True Alpha?  _ The True Alpha yet loses.  _ Yet. He supposes that is an important addition. Yet again, he loses. Derek lost his betas, he lost his pack again, he lost his control again, lost his choice again in the face of Jennifer and her magic. But he came out alive. And if Stiles is supposed to be the Heart, then the only Alpha he’d ever pledge himself to his Derek. Scott might have known him longer, but it was always Derek that proved himself over and over again that he considered Stiles his, even after having lost so much. He likes how the strength of Derek’s character is there in this prophecy.  _ Bring back what was long gone.  _ The lives of all of these people. But what catches his attention most is the last line. 

_ Of a time only lived by him and his.  _

Maybe more people were supposed to come, maybe they were not. But Derek was there when he did the spell, so he must be back, he has to be, he has to be, he has to be!

He realizes too late the whole house is shaking, that his mom is calling him, trying to calm him down. Sadly, he can’t. He needs Derek here with him, he needs him, needs him!

Maybe he is shouting all of that, just not thinking them inside, because the next thing he knows, his mom is on the phone, talking to-

“Talia. Bring Derek Hale here, please. Just do it, please Alpha Hale- I do. I'll explain, as much as I can- yes, please, thank you!”

He doesn’t know how much time passes. The only thing he knows is that knowing Derek will be coming here, and he will know for sure if it is his Derek, the man he fell in love with, or is it someone else, someone he never ever knew, somehow calms him down. At least, the house isn’t shaking any more, and his mom settles on the couch, exhausted. Later, she’ll tell him she had to use a lot of energy to make the mundane eyes see nothing unusual from here, and Stiles would spew out some Shadowhunter terms. He hopes there will be a lot more books this time around. It was a promising series. 

When he comes to, it’s to hear a soft, “Stiles,”

Stiles immediately launches himself into Derek’s waiting arms, crying into him, murmuring. “I love  you, I love you, I love you. I am sorry you had to do that- that, I am so sorry, Der, I didn’t know if you’d be my Derek or some weird, happy Der-Bear or some shit. You are mine, right?” The exasperated but fond eye-roll suggests he is. 

“I’ll always be yours,” Derek says, like a promise. “And I think you’re brave for coming back, even though you believed you’d be alone, God, Stiles, I love you so damn much.”

Stiles lunges and- kisses air. He blinks. “What?” 

Behind Derek, there’s a woman. Who is decidedly not his mom, because she is behind him, her hand on his shoulder; The other woman has jet black hair, sharp, assessing green eyes, and features very similar to  Derek. Even her tone of voice is similar to Derek’s. 

“I just followed my son at break-neck speed in my Camaro to a stranger’s house, said son having run here in his  _ wolf form, _ which takes years to learn by the way, and here I see an eight-year-old saying he loves my son, and my fifteen-year-old son reciprocates. Again, we are strangers, and here I see a kid trying to kiss Derek. Explanation. Now.”

Over the years, Stiles has gotten pretty good at handling his brain-to-mouth filter, but apparently messing with time has fucked up his progress, because he says: “ Sourwolf , are you sure you aren’t adopted or some shit? She spoke a lot of words, dude, or, or! Is this the wrong... dimension?”

“Shut up, Stiles,” Derek says, glaring and blushing. Stiles smiles. He should smile now, all that he wants to, because he’s sure as fuck all that he won’t be able to for a long time. And by that, he means till Alpha Hale’s curiosity is satisfied. 

Hopefully dodging answers will be better than dodging bullets and dead bodies. 

He reset  time; he’s allowed to hope foolishly, okay? Okay. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ My Tumblr! ](http://whenwordsmakesense.tumblr.com)  
> Come find me and talk to me about YOUR ideas. I may or may not write them, depending on my muse and a deadly disease known as writer's block, which finds me quite often. Writing something different helps me out, is what I've learnt is my remedy. So really, it's a win-win situation, you get to read more and I get to write more! :)


	2. An End, A New Beginning; I’ll always be with you: You’re My Moon, My Stars, My Anchor & My Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Derek's POV of Chapter 1, as well as a little bit of bonding between our boys and their mothers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is short, but don't be fooled, there are a lot of emotions in it! I don't want you all to be overwhelmed, so I stopped where I did. 
> 
> Next chapter will be up in a week's time.

His life has never been easy, let alone has it inspired him to live. He’s shouldered too much loss, too much grief, and there are days when he’s amazed he’s even made it this far. Hasn’t he suffered enough? From the loss of his first love, his family, his Pack, to the loss of his new Pack; isn’t the universe done with him? What is so special about Derek Hale that he’s the focus of whatever cruel joke this is? And cruel it is. With every loss, he’s lost another piece of him, another reason torn from him: why should he keep breathing when they didn’t? He should have been dead by now. Hell, he _was,_ he was dead, but he came back, evolved and majestic and everything his family name once stood for. But he didn’t deserve it. How could he? But right now, he doesn’t want to be dead. Even with all that has happened, even with all that he knows, he doesn’t want to die now. He wants to live. _He wants to live with Stiles._

Trust is not something that comes easily to him. But after going through what he has, he has had to learn to sometimes just accept things. Not trust them, but simply take things in face value. He’s learned that the reasons are much, much cruel, and he has no desire to have more cruelty thrust into his life. But despite this, he can’t accept what Lydia had told them, oh so long ago it now feels like a lifetime; They have lost so much in these three years, hell, even before, each new day is like an eternity. 

“I am still not okay with this,” he confesses in the night air, wishing he could have enjoyed this peace and quiet with Stiles, the fresh air. Except the air isn’t fresh, it’s filled with the smell of blood and death and hatred and fear. 

Even after all this, Stiles hasn’t lost his biting snark. It’s a constant Derek has come to appreciate far more than anyone should. Maybe this is why he loves Stiles; Stiles is a constant in his life, never once having strayed from his core, no matter the situation. He’s immensely loyal, immensely caring, _loving._ Brave. Smart. A force to be reckoned with. And he’s gorgeous, in the way his eyes are filled with life; in the way his limbs talk just as much as his mouth; in the way he is always there, for anyone who needs him to be. It’s no wonder Derek has given away his heart to Stiles, even if the human isn’t aware of it. 

Turns out risky plans lead to declarations of love. And one last night together. And it might as well be their last, because neither of them knows if Derek is going back with Stiles, so to speak. His heart aches for his Stiles, imagining him all alone in a world of all the ghosts they have, fighting a battle no one even knows about. They have no idea when Stiles will go back to, but it’s clear that he has to stop Monroe, first and foremost. 

“We can fight them,” he tries. It falls short. Brave, stupid, selfless Stiles. _His Stiles._

Clawing Stiles to death on the Nemeton is not what he’d ever wanted to do, but here he is, killing a person he loves like this for the second time. The novelty of the situation doesn’t lessen the hurt in his heart, but propels him to a level of desperation that he ends up killing himself, as well. Resetting Time means none of this would have happened, so technically he is still alive, in a way, right? Not that it matters, because the reason of his being alive is dying, dying because of him. 

“I will always love you, Mieczyslaw Stilinski,” names hold power, and he hopes that this will be enough to ensure his way back to Stiles. The last thing he sees is Stiles’ alive, amber eyes dulling, and before he knows it, he is howling, a sound of grief and loss and rage and fear and despair so strong, it blocks everything out. He falls down on the stupid stump, gathers as much of Stiles in his arms as he can, and closes his eyes. 

He wishes to be gone. He also wishes to be there for Stiles, in any way he can. 

The sweet release of death doesn’t come. But he doesn’t understand that yet. When he smells his family, his pack, he thinks he’s in heaven or whatever afterlife is there for people like him. He watches as Cora runs across the hallway, shouting way too loud, and Laura pokes her head in his room exclaiming that the dead wolf is awake. It’s so much like before, it makes him cry. He stumbles out of his bed and into Laura’s arms before she can even ask what’s wrong. 

How does he say he’s sorry? That he missed her every day, but didn’t let himself miss her too much, because he didn’t deserve to. How does he ask forgiveness for killing his entire family? 

“Derek. It’s okay, you are okay. Whatever you were dreaming about isn’t real,” Laura soothes him, runs her hands along his hair, his back. He trembles in her strong arms, stops breathing when she sings the lullaby their grandma used to sing to them whenever they were sad. Laura used to do this after the fire too, singing it to calm both of them, especially after nightmares. It makes him cry more. 

Peter and mom and dad are all here, Cora is hiding away behind Peter. Derek doesn’t notice them until his mom calls his name and Cora kisses his cheek. He’d forgotten how adorable she was as a kid; a whimper escapes him when he tries to compare this 9-year-old version of his sister with the angry teenager she’d become. 

Peter tries to comfort him then, and Derek snarls at him, deep and menacing. His uncle might have come around by the end of it all, but he’d never managed to become the family he once was. Hell, the only reason he came around was because of Malia, and while he was happy to have him back in some way, the fact that Derek hadn’t meant enough for him, when they had been so close before the fire, it makes him angry. 

“What’s gotten into you?!” His dad shouts, jumping back. 

He doesn’t answer. Then he blinks, because the suit his dad is wearing is the same one he’d worn for his Award Ceremony. Derek remembers that day, he’d been asleep for most of it and Laura and Peter had decided to prank him by putting itching powder in all of his clothes. A bizarre idea comes to mind, but he has to ask. His life has been one shitshow after another, and maybe this is the universe’s way of making it up to him? 

“What’s the date.” 

His family looks at him like he’s an idiot, and he glares back. It’s Cora who finally says, “Daddy’s Award Date,” He cracks a small smile at that. 

“What’s the date, sweetie?” Again, his family gives him a look. So, he wasn’t big on affection with his sisters back then, it is not his problem. He was a teenager, and he had a reputation to save. Though he’d rather have spent telling his family how much he loved them; maybe he can, now. 

Cora smiles at him, launches herself at him. He catches her in one swift motion, balances her on his hip, and smells her. _Pack._

“It’s May Second,” she says. 2004 then. Before the fire, before Stiles’ mom had died. Could she be-? 

His mom clears her throat, finally speaking up. Derek looks at her, and finds himself remembering that night, how she had howled with pain and grief, having watched her pack die. He remembers the exact moment he knew she was gone, his Alpha, his mom, because he remembers helping Laura control herself with the sudden surge in power in her. Derek looks away before she can see the tears that threaten to fall. 

“Peter, take Cora outside. Go to the park, maybe. Laura, get ready, wear something nice. You’ll be going with your father. No buts or ifs,” she flashes her eyes, not because she is compelling them, or forcing them to do as she asks because she’s the Alpha, but rather because this is her way of telling others that this decision is being made as the Alpha, not the mother or wife or sister that she is. Whatever protests Laura and Peter were going to speak, die in their throats. “And you. Come with me,” 

Derek looks at his dad, his sisters and his uncle, sees their confused frowns. He knows he’s not strong, and he knows he never will be as strong as Stiles, who came back aware that he will be alone in this world filled with ghosts of people he cared for. Derek hugs his father, murmurs an apology. Kisses Laura’s forehead, holds onto her a little too long. Tickles Cora, kisses her cheek, and she kisses back, rubs her hands on his neck. Says, “Don’t smell sad,” with her eyes too big. Derek smiles, lets her down from his arms, then looks at Peter, who is looking at him with his calculating gaze. He rolls his eyes at that. Many things might have changed, but some remain the same. 

“I haven’t forgiven you.” Derek says, and hugs Peter. 

“For what?” Peter asks. Derek sighs. The list is too long, actually. Hopefully none of it would make its way back this time. He doesn’t answer, and then follows his mom downstairs to the study. It’s soundproofed, so no one can listen in. Peter gives him a look but leaves the house without further comment, Cora in his arms. 

His mom is sitting on her desk chair, and Derek is surprised to find that he isn’t intimidated by her anymore. Before, he always seemed so small in her presence, but maybe his experiences have changed that. It isn’t a pleasant thought to have, and he grimaces. His mom sharpens her gaze at him. 

“Explain,” she commands. 

“Explain what,” he asks back flatly. He can sense her annoyance at his lack of inflection, much like Stiles. And he can also sense her sadness, her wonderment of what happened to her son, who used to have such expressive ways to show his feelings and opinions. Now, though, Derek is simply a soul trapped in a body, with no reason to have any of that, any opinions or feelings. Why should he? _How_ should he? Stiles, is the answer. And the more he thinks about him, he wishes to be with him, right this second. Subtlety be damned. 

“You’re not my son.” She says bluntly. Derek doesn’t react. He isn’t, not really. “You wear his face; you wear his scent. You are him, but you’re. Not. Him. And the question you asked. That. Explain.” 

“I was unaware of today’s date.” He replies. She grows annoyed at his clipped tone. “And you are right, I am not him. I am not the son you know,” 

“But you are my son. You are Derek Samuel Hale, just not the one I, _we,_ know.” She concludes. Derek can do nothing but nod. “H-” she starts, but is cut off by her phone ringing. She doesn’t seem to be eager to pick it up, so Derek does it for her. He puts it on speaker. It’s an unknown number, but something in Derek screams _right_ when he does. 

“Hello?” his mom asks, eyes flicking between him and the phone in a silent question of if he knows who this is. He shrugs. They’ll know. 

“Talia? Talia Hale?” The voice, a female, asks. Derek pays closer attention to the background, but all he can hear are loud winds and shaking of a lot of furniture at once. It makes him panic, but the only indication is the way his heart beat elevates. This seems to make his mother wary. 

“Yes. This is her. Who are you?” 

“Claudia Stilinski. Please, listen to me. This is important, very important,” 

“Stiles,” he mutters, able to hear a kid’s voice murmuring something in the background. Claudia’s voice cuts off for a second, and it makes it easier to hear it clearly: a steady mantra of “Derek, I need him, I need him,” His mom looks at him. His response is to tear out his clothes and shift and run. He hears his mom following him, hears her car start, hears Claudia pleading to bring Derek to her house, to Stiles, and hears his mother’s surprised gasp when Claudia calls her Alpha Hale. 

But he doesn’t focus on that. He runs, and runs, and runs, and reaches Stiles’ house. It’s the same, if maybe a little new. He sees the house shaking, feels the thrum of magic in his skin, in his bones as he crosses the porch and enters the house. There are two different types of magic at play here, one which he knows intimately and the other similar, but different. Neither make him feel nauseous. 

He finds a young Stiles shaking, his breathing coming in soft gasps. Derek trots to him, his Stiles, and tries to lick him. It calms Stiles, just a little, but it is enough for him to breathe properly. Then he shifts into his human form, uncaring that he’s naked. That isn’t important. Stiles is. 

Stiles’s panic attack ends slowly, his eyes fluttering open when Derek softly murmurs, “Stiles,” 

Stiles looks at him, tears in his eyes, and says, “I love you, I love you, I love you. I am sorry you had to do that- that, I am so sorry, Der, I didn’t know if you’d be my Derek or some weird, happy Der-Bear or some shit. You are mine, right?” 

Derek shakes his head. He’s not sorry that it happened. He’s got a new chance, a second chance, at life, and not just with his new Pack, but his _family._ He’s not sorry any of it happened, because right now, Stiles is in his arms and both their mothers are here. He rolls his eyes at nickname, and says, “I’ll always be yours,” like that is even a question. They are Derek and Stiles, of course they’ll be _Derek and Stiles_ for a long time to come. “And I think you’re brave for coming back, even though you believed you’d be alone, God, Stiles, I love you so damn much.” 

Stiles smiles at him, bright and genuine, and lunges to kiss him. Derek knows Stiles is a kid, that he’s the same age as Cora, but this is Stiles, so he leans in, too. But their lips don’t connect. 

He almost forgot about his mom. She does a very good job of reminding him, though. 

“I just followed my son at break-neck speed in my Camaro to a stranger’s house, said son having run here in his _wolf form,_ which takes years to learn by the way, and here I see an eight-year-old saying he loves my son, and my fifteen-year-old son reciprocates. Again, we are strangers, and here I see a kid trying to kiss Derek. Explanation. Now.” He winces, because yeah, he forgot that she had followed him here. And how it must look like to her. To Claudia, as well, but when he glances at Stiles’s mom, she doesn’t look anything like his mom. Instead, she looks just as guilty as him and Stiles... which, what? 

Derek looks at Stiles when he opens his mouth. “Sourwolf, are you sure you aren’t adopted or some shit? She spoke a lot of words, dude, or, or! Is this the wrong... dimension?” He glares at his boyfriend- is Stiles his boyfriend? He blushes when he remembers what they’d done after Stiles had basically asked the same thing. Not that it had been their first time, but still. Stiles beams at him, pointedly looking at his ears. He blushes harder. 

His mom clears her throat. “I think Claudia promised me something,” she says, eyes flashing red. “First, why haven’t you said anything to me about you?” 

“Alpha Hale, I think we should first let Derek wear some clothes. I promise we will explain everything.” Stiles says, and even with his kiddie voice, he has a certain command to it which makes Derek and his wolf preen. That’s his Stiles. _His._

Derek follows Stiles upstairs, keeping an ear downstairs on their moms. He stays close to Stiles, touching him as often as he can. Claudia is explaining how she had no idea who she was until Stiles helped her, and how Deaton had her under his spell. His mom is obviously angry at the accusation, Deaton is her Emissary after all, but no one is more surprised than him. 

“Deaton did that?” He asks Stiles, who is rummaging through his dad’s drawers for clothes. Stiles emerges with loose-fitting sweatpants and a t-shirt that Derek thinks he has seen Stiles wear in the past. Or future. _Jesus_ , this is confusing. 

“It’s a whole thing. It’s better if mom explains it, though, I am still processing,” Stiles says while he wears the clothes. He has to admit, Stiles is an adorable kid. Shit, does that make a pedophile? He hopes not. It’s not like anyone else can say they’ve been through what they have been through. Maybe he gets a pass? 

“What are we now?” He blurts out, and Stiles gives him a look. It is somehow very condescending. Stiles doesn’t need to say _We literally had sex yesterday after we confessed our love for each other. You came back with me when literally that wasn’t supposed to happen, and then you defied your first Alpha, your mom and came rushing to me when I called for you. Just now you were suffocating me with your wolfy need to drown me in your scent, touching me everywhere_ for him to hear it. What Stiles says instead is surprising but not unwelcome. 

“We are Derek and Stiles,” he says, like it’s obvious. Like Derek should know this. And, well. He was the one who said it. Derek smiles, kisses Stiles’ cheek, then his nose, and then pecks his lips. Stiles cards his fingers through his hair, massaging his scalp. “Come on, I don’t think we should leave them alone any longer.” 

“Why?” He asks, even though he is already following Stiles back down. Stiles looks back at him and grimaces. 

“Ah, well. You’ll know.” When Derek gives him an unimpressed look, he adds, “Apparently there’s a prophecy that says you and I will end up together? And my mom is super into it?” 

Derek trips over his feet at that. Luckily, Stiles is magic and floats a pillow from his room so that his head lands on that. They’re just at the top of the stairs, and Derek doesn’t even care that his mom is probably eavesdropping, given the lack of chatter from below. He doesn’t even try to unpack all of what Stiles said, just groans, “I definitely do not want them teaming up and going all Lydia on us for our wedding,” 

A giggle erupts from Stiles, like he hadn’t expected that to be his reaction. Derek yet again preens, his wolf jumping up and down in excitement at the scene, of having made Stiles laugh like this. He gets up and throws the pillow back on Stiles’s race-car bed, which seems to be smaller than it should be, before marching down back. 

The first thing Stiles says is, “By the way, Alpha Hale, this body is 9-years-old. Derek and I share an age difference of 6 and a half years. Just FYI. In case you were being a creeper and listening to us,” Derek visibly facepalms at that. Both their mothers look ashamed, but also amused. At least they are getting along. 

Claudia motions for them to sit. Derek finds himself sitting on top of the coffee table with Stiles while the women sit on the couch like civilized people. Both give their sons a stink eye, but don’t comment on it. 

“If what Claudia says is true, how come you are aware of your powers?” Mom asks, attention completely on Stiles. Derek is surprised that even after so many years, almost a decade, he is still able to read his mom. He finds she is overwhelmed, and asking one question at a time is a trick to help keep calm as much as it is to learn facts one by one. 

Derek interlaces his and Stiles’s fingers as he talks. Their moms glance at the action but don’t say anything. 

“Technically, I am not. This Stiles isn’t supposed to be aware of the supernatural at all,” 

“Before, you said ‘this body’, and you’re making the same distinction again. With all that I’ve witnessed today,” she glances at him, then back to Stiles, “is it safe to assume... Time Travel?” She says it with skepticism, but that is to be expected. Time Travel has always been a myth, even amongst the creatures who are supposed to be myths but are not. Derek itches to know about the prophecy right this instant. 

Stiles nods, clearly thinking about how to drop the bomb. Derek thinks it would be easier to tell her about the future when they’re both aware of the past. So, he says, “Yes. We’ll get back to it, later.” His mom looks annoyed, but she nods in acceptance. Stiles runs his thumb over Derek’s knuckles in a happy manner. 

“Before you hear my mom out, I want you to know that neither me nor Derek are the people you’re seeing. No, I mean, we’re _us,_ we’re still Stiles and Derek, just not the ones you know. We’re adults,” Stiles says, and mom looks at Claudia. He turns to her as well. 

Claudia runs her hands through her hair, in a manner similar to Stiles when he’s been thinking for long on the same problem, and it makes Derek huddle Stiles closer to him. Stiles leans into him without any resistance. 

“The Hales are an ancient family in our community,” Claudia starts. “the first werewolves, or so the legend goes. But they are respected, and honored. Something not every ancient family has the luxury of.” She says it is a matter-of-fact manner, like she isn’t saying something important. Something that hasn’t led her child and another through the hell they’ve been through. “Have you heard the story of the first Spark, Alpha Hale?” 

He and Stiles simply watch as their mothers talk. 

“I do. Most details have been lost to time, but a few things have been passed down: Sparks have unlimited power, but they’re rare, having been accounted only thrice in total. And that-” his mom hesitates. She glances at them, him and Stiles, then back at Claudia. Her voice breaks as she speaks again. “And that the Hale family is closely tied to them.” 

All of them are shocked. Maybe it’s the emotional whiplash of their supposedly last days, their confession, them getting to see those they hadn’t thought they’d ever get the chance to see, and the euphoria that came from the fact that they have a second chance; Claudia is the one to recover first and demand an explanation. 

“The first- first Spark. He came into powers the same night the first Hale Alpha did. The first _True Alpha._ There was a prophecy, and then- then it didn’t come true, as far as the journals say,” 

“Journals?” Stiles whispers, but no one but Derek hears that. Derek wonders if Laura knew of them, but he dismisses the thought quickly. One reason Peter absolutely hated for Talia to become Alpha instead of him was related to some sort of knowledge, something only Alphas of their Pack are confided to, on the day they become one. Not for the first time, guilt surges inside him. And not for the first time, Stiles comforts him, a steady rock, _an anchor,_ in his sea of turmoil. 

“Do you know of the-?” Claudia asks, and Derek pays more attention. His mother replies the prophecy is lost to them, but she’s aware that it has something to do with the end of the world. “It does,” Claudia admits. Then she looks at them, him and Stiles, and Derek knows the moment it clicks for his mom. 

She whimpers, tears flowing freely from her eyes. Stiles looses his grip on him, and Derek finds himself cradling his mom in her arms, brushing her hair and soothing her. 

“It’s okay, everything’s fine,” he whispers, but they feel wrong. They have so much to do still. He knows his mom knows, but still, the comfort of physical touch between pack is enough to calm her. 

Claudia smiles sadly at them, then recites the damned prophecy. Derek feels nauseous when he hears _Hatred so potent, it burns_ ; His family dying, that might have been destined, but it doesn’t negate the fact that _he_ was so weak that he failed his pack, his family. That _he_ is the reason so much of the shit show happened, happened. 

Stiles has always seen through him. Cut through his bullshit, called him out on it. Now isn’t any different. It’s a role reversal from when he arrived at Stiles’s house merely an hour ago, Stiles saying things that Derek wishes were true in-between urging him to breathe. 

“Breathe, love, one, inhale, exhale, two, inhale, exhale. Yes, you’re doing so good. Just like that. You know you aren’t responsible for the fire, right? She manipulated you, Derek, she played you. You aren’t responsible for it. You’re not responsible for Jax, or Catwoman, or _him._ Three, inhale, exhale. Four, inhale, exhale. We came back now, didn’t we? Before you came back to Beacon Hills, long before they are supposed to be here? None of what happened to us happened because of you,” Stiles kisses him, now that Derek has mostly returned to normal. He doesn’t know why being here has made him vulnerable to his feelings; for years he has found himself as nothing but a dead soul, simply existing before being whisked off to lose yet more pieces of his soul. But being back, being here, being surrounded by the potential of making his soul whole, knitting it back slowly by slowly, has him losing his control over his heart. He’s truly bleeding for the first time in years, because he now has the knowledge that someone will be there to clean it up. 

“You don’t know it,” he rasps, voice hollow. He’s bled all that he can. And he needs Stiles to patch him up. 

“It’s 2004, Derek. Before we lost anyone, before you even met her. I don’t even think they’re in town right now, he came around Christmas, didn’t he?” 

Derek knows. He just needed to hear it. From Stiles. 

Stiles kisses him, slow and sweet, no tongue; This time, his mom doesn’t stop them. The kiss is simply a touch of their lips, gliding together, making sure they’re both here. Stiles plays with his fingers; that’s what it must look like to others. In reality, he is counting how many fingers Derek has, and Derek knows he has 10. 

This isn’t a dream, and that’s why it’s all the more terrifying. 

They can’t fail. _They can’t fail._

When Derek finally looks at his mom and Stiles’s, all he can think is that he will keep them safe. All of them. And keep Stiles with him, forever. 

He wouldn’t be here if not for Stiles. His heart; nothing black or white about it, his heart is simply _St_ _iles._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All mistakes are my own! Please point them out if you wish to. After all, mistakes make a human, right?  
> Love ya <3


	3. Towards a better future; sometimes being cruel is necessary

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More dialogue heavy content! Have ye fun. Also, this chapter really leans into the Mature rating of this fic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As I said, Mature Rating of this fic, coming to play harder than before. Other than that, it's Teen Wolf Canon types, with my own changes thrown in between. Don't read further if any of what I've written isn't to your likings :)

Stiles has always known that his mother is the nurturing type, unable to witness anyone in pain, either physical or mental. He’d believed it was simply her nature, but now he thinks it might have been her repressed trauma fighting its way above the deadly woven lines of Deaton’s spell. So, he’s not exactly surprised when his mom tells them all she’ll be making them lunch, now. Talia just nods, having taken Derek in her arms to soothe them both. 

Stiles kisses Derek’s forehead before sitting back on the coffee table. The silence is comfortable in the way that it gives him time to arrange his thoughts, as errant as they are. His heart soars at the sight of Derek with his mother, as surreal it still seems. When Lydia had conveyed to them that The Voices know of a way to make everything better, he’d figured it meant before the Darach had activated the Nemeton. Even in his dying moments, the only way he’d seen to be able to meet with his parents, his dead pack members, was in afterlife. 

He’s never liked when things don’t go according to plan, but right now he is glad this plan went so far off the rails than what he’d thought. 

His mom comes in then, two plates balanced in each hand. She’s clearly using magic so that they don’t fall, and Stiles’s own revels in the excitement her magic is showing. It reminds of his own experience, the first time he’d managed to use his magic. It had been like jumping off a cliff, aware that it was dangerous, but also aware that there was a sea of water to save him from death -- it was also safe, his magic. It had felt poetic, beautiful, to have his magic be such a parallel to his life. Supernatural creatures were dangerous to him, but at the same time, some were safe to him. Like Derek. Isaac. Jordan. Lydia. Hell, even Jackson. 

“I hope everyone here likes pancakes,” she says as she hands them the plates, and Stiles’s train of thought ends with a sudden want of _pancakes, yummy!_ He watches as Talia thanks his mother and lets Derek leave her embrace. Derek kisses her hair before making his way to him, and Stiles smiles at his boyfriend before looking back at their moms. Yet again, they are sitting on the coffee table while their moms are on the couch. They do not get a stink eye this time. 

There’s silence for a moment; the only sound are the forks and spoons clanging against the plate, and the small sounds of appreciation that are mostly coming from Stiles. 

“Bad things happened, didn’t it,” Talia says, her eyes on the spot Derek had his panic attack in. Her gaze flicks back to Derek when he makes a soft noise, and she hurries to add, “Fate is a twisted thing. The things that happened to you, whatever they were, they were meant to happen. I know I’m biased and blinded here; I have no idea what I’m talking about, but I know that you can never be the whole reason of the world dying, pup. Things happen for a reason, right, and as Stiles said: You came back now. There’s a reason for that. And whoever these people are, Jax, Catwoman, and the other boy, you’ve got a second chance, Derek. Don’t waste it by wallowing in your misplaced guilt, make sure you are here, in the present, for them. For whoever you feel responsible for.” 

Stiles idly wonders if this would be it, Derek will finally move on from his misplaced guilt, but he knows it’s futile when all Derek does is whine pitifully. “Oh, love,” Stiles mumbles, carefully putting aside their plates -- his empty, Derek’s half-eaten -- and tucks his boyfriend towards him. It’s awkward, the height difference; Stiles and Derek have not always been the same height, or well, _almost_ the same height, but there has always been a way to these touches, something that has become a thing in their lives as much as the constant-almost deaths and deaths. But still, he doesn’t let this bother him. Much. 

He might have jostled Derek so much that one of the plates almost fell off the edge of the table. Might. 

At least it makes Derek laugh. 

“What? You know how I am,” he mutters, deliberately annoyed. Derek cuddles closer in the final position Stiles wrangled them into. 

“It’s just,” Derek starts, then pauses, obviously collecting his thoughts. “I miss our heights.” 

“Is that the only thing you miss?” His mom’s sudden comment reminds him that yes, his and Derek’s, _both_ their moms are here. 

Stiles sputters as Talia shouts, “Claudia!” in a scandalized manner. Derek coughs and pointedly moves as far away from him as he can manage on the coffee table. 

“What? Don’t say you don’t know what our boys must gave gotten up to with their adult bodies, Talia,” his mom replies innocently enough. The twinkle in her eyes gives her away. 

Before either of them can reply, Talia says, far too casually, “I am an Alpha werewolf. You can’t hide anything from this nose,” 

“Mom! He’s a kid!” Derek protests, and despite getting what he means, Stiles says, “I’m not! Or did you forget my 21st birthday?” That had been last year, and Lydia and Malia had insisted on giving him and Derek the small tent all to them for the night. It had been very nice. Stiles had cursed Derek for the next whole day about not being able to walk properly. Derek had bit back why didn’t he heal himself with his magic. Stiles had refused to answer. 

Fuck. How could he forget? From the sudden change in expression on Derek’s face, he knows they are both thinking the same thing. 

“Mom, why did you take Peter’s memories?” 

The good mood is gone as soon as it had come, and his mom takes all the plates and takes them to the kitchen. Stiles understands this must be too much on his mom, having gained memories of almost a decade, and then dealing with all this. He promises to himself after this, they’ll stop. 

Talia doesn’t even bother denying. It makes sense; if Derek knows, then something must have gone down in the future that lets him know. 

“The Desert Wolf,” she says, like that explains everything. 

“She isn’t stronger than our pack.” Derek says. 

Talia tilts her head, as if saying she knows that. “Peter was only 18. He’d made a rash decision before, and he made another, getting a were-coyote and a married woman pregnant in the span of a month-” 

“ _Peter has another kid?!_ ” Stiles shouts, and then, “Fucking Jackson. Fucking fuck _fuck_ , Lydia would kill Peter and then kill us. Fuck,” 

Color drains from Derek’s face. “That’s why he was the Kanima. I gave the bite to a repressed werewolf,” 

Talia blanches at that. “Peter’s son was a kanima? You fought such a thing?” 

“Yeah, and his daughter couldn’t control her first shift and ended up killing her adoptive mother and sister and then built them a shrine and remained as a coyote for eight years and then had shit happen to her and then fucking _died_ , why would you hide them?! Or _not_ give them to someone _who knows?_ What the fuck, _Alpha_ Talia Hale. I’m sorry Derek, but I think _out of the four Hale Alphas that I know of_ , your mom takes the cake for the worst one.” He snaps, memories of Malia struggling to be a human, to be pack, to just _be_ flashing in his mind. Memories of Jackson acting out after finding out he was adopted, of him realizing what he’d done, killed people, coming right after. 

“Stiles, calm down,” Derek says, and Stiles tries to. It’s hard. He glares at Talia. “Mom. We tell Peter today. Better yet, you give him back his memories.” 

“I can’t,” she says, and Stiles is ready to yell again when Derek shakes his head. “I really can’t.” she says again at Derek’s glare. 

“What was his ‘rash decision,’” Derek asks, voice clipped and cold. Talia shivers at that, as if she isn’t a werewolf, and that voice is an actual entity, crushing her inside it. 

Talia inhales, and says something so bizarre that it shakes the very foundations of Stiles’s beliefs. 

She says Peter Hale loved Chris Argent. 

“What,” Derek growls. Would Chris really do that? Attempt what Kate tried with Derek? 

“It was his senior year. Chris and his wife had just moved here. I don’t know how they met, but they did, and they fell for each other. I love my brother, you have to know that, but I couldn’t let a hunter in my pack, my family. So I took away their memories. Both of theirs. Chris filled the hole in his heart with his wife, as far as I know. They have a little girl now, almost your age,” 

“Allison Argent. She’s a year older than me.” Stiles says hollowly. If she’d wanted to make the situation lighter with the mention of a young girl, sweet and innocent, it didn’t work. Talia seemed to know that. 

“Peter wasn’t the same, after. Kept saying he felt empty, somehow. Incomplete. I thought finding someone else to love would help him. I didn’t know until Corinne came to me, and then later Margaret, that Peter had taken my advice.” 

Tears were flowing from her eyes, but Stiles could care less. They were talking about two kids, here. Who had both suffered a lot in their admittedly young lives. And been forced to end the lives of others by the hands of fate. 

A laugh escapes Stiles, hollow and definitely not a how a laugh should sound like. “God,” he says. “Fate. Such an ungraspable thing. Malia, her tragedy started with a storm, in a late November evening. Jackson, his, cruelly, started with a storm as well, but before he was even born. The Millers, they’re dead. And I bet no one but the mom knew who the real father of her child was, right? Or didn’t she know? And what you did to Chris and Peter. I think he knows; your brother is cunning. I know he knows that you’ve taken his memories. He _knows_ he’s lost someone, and all he might be thinking is that it might be because he’s a werewolf and they were a human. That created another problem, did you know that? Of course you don’t know that. _You don’t know anything._ ” 

Talia looks so broken; it brings a level of comfort to him. Then he remembers the darkness inside him, remembers a time when he didn’t think of himself as cruel. He pities his past-self; how did he not know this about himself? Admittedly, he didn’t know a lot of things about himself still. 

If it came between the old Pack and the new one, who would he save? He didn’t know. 

And he didn’t want to find out. 

“Talia, I think it’s best if you go home. Take Derek with you; it’s getting late. Let him drive if you can’t.” He hadn’t even noticed his mom come back, but she had, and her face was blank. 

Nodding, Talia hands over the keys to Derek. Derek looks at Stiles, then his mom, finally settling on going back to his old home. This time, thankfully, it would be the version with plumbing. 

Once the Hales are gone, his mom sends him to his room. Tired from all that has happened in the last 24 hours, Stiles doesn’t protest, and falls asleep as soon as his head hits the pillow. 

He doesn’t wake up till late in the night when someone curls up beside him on his too small bed. 

“D’rek,” he mumbles sleepily. Derek shushes him and tells him to go back to sleep. But he wants to know what happened- 

“She gave them back, the memories. Peter’s already settled a date to meet with them both. He hasn’t said a word about Chris, though.” 

“It’s hard losing someone you love.” He says. “I haven’t lost you, right?” 

Derek snuggles closer to him, kisses his forehead, his hair. “Never.” 

“But I was out of line,” 

“You said what I couldn’t. Not every cruel action or words come from a place of actual evil. You know that better than most.” 

“Hmm. The Hales and their special language of love: Hate first.” 

“Exactly. Now, sleep.” 

He does. Derek’s breathing has slowed down enough that he knows he’s almost asleep too. The Stiles remembers, and gets up frantically. Derek groans. 

“My dad!” he hisses, and Derek gives him a look before pulling him back down, this time on top of him. Stiles has to admit this is a better position. 

“I messaged your mom before coming here. She said she’ll help us.” 

“Oh.” That’s nice, he thinks. “How did you get her number?” 

“From mom’s phone. Claudia called her directly in the morning. I think she got it from the telephone book,” 

Stiles nods, almost asleep again. “D’rek?” 

Derek groans again, annoyed. He even stops moving his hands on Stiles’s back. Rude. “What now?” 

“I was going to say I love you, but if you don’t want me to-” 

“I love you too.” Derek tangles their legs together. 

“I am not going to kiss you, though. It feels weird.” 

“It does. We can start doing it again when you hit puberty. Again.” 

“Asshole.” 

“Whom you love,” Derek retorts, then pulls Stiles into him so much that Stiles can’t even move his lips without them scratching at Derek’s tee shirt. He falls asleep like that, and in the morning when he wakes up, Derek is still there. 

There are things they need to do, stop shit from happening, and literally do a whole lot of things before they can consider taking a break for just themselves, but Stiles can’t hate how it’s all playing out. A significant amount of weight has been lifted from his heart, his soul, his shoulders, and he can see the same in Derek, in the way that he’s more here, less haunted, and more gorgeous than ever with his apparently-turning-frequent smiles. 

It’s been hell to get to this point, and Stiles can’t imagine it getting any easier, but he can hope.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a really short chapter, but I am hoping to have the next one -- in Derek's POV -- up in the next 24 hours, hopefully. We'll see. And ooh, follow me on Tumblr! I have it linked in the final notes! Maybe you can see it down below?
> 
> Also, kudos and comments appreciated. And asks, if you're on Tumblr. <3
> 
> **Edit, 07/03/21** : The next chapter won't be up for a couple days more, I think. It's hard to wrangle in all of Derek's feelings, and I am still not sure how should I portray Laura? Plus his dad, ugh. Basically it's a mess.   
> Not yet sure when Chapter 4 will be up, but before 12/03, I hope. I _have_ said that I'll take a week for each chapter.   
> So. Yeah. Hope to see y'all soon!


	4. Towards a better future; Sometimes being honest is necessary

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hale Family Feels.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know what I said, and this really _did_ take me so long to write, delete, rewrite... well. It's here now. Hope I did Laura justice! And papa Hale.

Driving the Camaro again feels good, but also weird. He’s shorter than he’s used to, which he’s going to get used to soon, at least until he hits his growth spurt in about... three years. The enclosed space also smells sharply of pack, which is why Laura had taken it in the first place; never had his mom’s insistence that her baby be placed in her own special spot away from the house had been more appreciated than it was the day Laura had drove it for the  first time after the fire. 

Shaking his head to force himself away from those thoughts, he takes a deep breath.  _ His Pack. They’re alive, they’re still alive.  _ As much as he’s reeling from the fact that his mom isn’t the perfect  Alpha she was made out to be, her advice on being here, in the present, for those who need him now is a good one, and he does need to focus on things he can actually change. Peter will be furious, rightly so, when he gets his memories back, and Derek is the only one -- other than Stiles, but he’s back with his mother, not here -- who knows the full extent of his uncle’s fury. He needs to diplomatic, here. 

If one thing he’s learned through his experiences, it’s that it is never good to keep secrets. First it was hiding he had a much older girlfriend, then it was hiding his grief and his array of emotions from his sister, then it was keeping secrets from a young teen werewolf and so on; each one of them had a disastrous ending, and he has no intention of bringing any sort of misery back with him. 

Peter might have already figured it out. Not the whole truth, but  _ something.  _ It wasn’t as if Derek had been subtle about it. 

Curving on to the last turn to his not burnt home -- he's kind of surprised there were no deputies on the way to stop him -- he breaks the silence that had settled over him and his mom since they left the Stilinski’s home. 

“I am going to tell them.”

He doesn’t turn to see, but he can imagine his mom furrowing her eyebrows in confusion as she asks, “Are you sure?” He has spent a long-time suffering through dreams he’d rather not have, where she gives him the same look and asks him why did he kill her, why did he kill them  all. He might have started believing he wasn’t the reason they died, but these things don’t happen in a day. He knows himself, and he knows that it will take him a long time to heal completely. 

“Pack is about trust. Secrets break trust. And they have a weight to them that I don’t know how you’ve carried for all these years. I can’t, not anymore, so, yes. I am sure.”

He parks the car and gets out, reveling in the fresh air. As much as he likes being able to smell pack, they also bring back nightmares. And it isn’t like his mom isn’t falling apart at the seams right now. Derek knows he should feel guilty for this, but he can’t. Not when this is the kind of cruel things that are what are typically known as ‘Necessary Evils.’

He knows everyone is here even before he gets inside. Peter and Cora have returned from their excursion and his dad and Laura have also come back from the award ceremony. And they’re all waiting in the living room. 

Peter takes a step back when he comes in, while Cora jumps up and hugs him. His dad zeroes in on mom, asking her what’s wrong, while Laura glares at him. Stiles will totally make fun of that when he finds out that yes, indeed, the glare of doom is a genetic thing. 

“Laura, please take Cora upstairs and put her to nap.” He says, ignoring the protests coming from his baby sister. His elder sister just sneers and looks at their mom, as if asking, ‘Seriously?’ Their mom nods and asks her the same, though she adds, “And come back down after,”

After the kids are gone -- Derek realizes then that he’s technically a decade older than Laura,  _ Jesus _ \-- he turns towards Peter. “What have you figured out by now?”

Peter looks at his Alpha and Alpha Mate, and then back at him. Derek can smell the apprehension and fear coming from his uncle that he can’t see as Peter lays out the facts: Derek, asking the date. Derek, smelling like grief and despair when he woke up. Derek, acting strange. Derek, acting as if he’s the Alpha. Talia, rolling with the changes. Talia, smelling like hurt and salt and pain right now. 

“What does that mean, Peter?” He asks once he’s done listing the things. Laura has come down by now, saying that Cora’s in a deep sleep and won’t wake up anytime soon. She’s looking between them strangely. 

“It’s a myth,” Peter says. 

“What does it mean.” He asks again. Peter hesitates, looks at Talia. A look of understanding passes over his features. 

“That’s what the journals are. The prophecy of the Spark, that’s come true, hasn’t it? And you are- and you were just with your Heart-  _ Derek _ ,” Peter says, earnest. “Whatever I did. I am sorry,”

“What the hell is going on? What prophecy? Mom, is this like a big joke or something-?” Laura bits out, annoyed and confused. She liked knowing everything all the time. A good Alpha is someone who knows everything, apparently. 

Derek doesn’t bother to reply to her. Instead, he instructs his mom to give back Peter his memories. His dad gasps; Derek gives him a wounded look. His dad knew too? He decides not to dwell on it further than he needs to: His dad loves his mom. He’ll support her decisions, always. He’ll support her, period. 

Turning back towards Peter, Derek says, “I don’t know if I’ll ever forgive you. But don’t fuck up this time, Peter, and it will be a start.”

Derek guides Peter to the couch, his mom taking her position behind it, her claws digging inside his neck’s flesh, her eyes flashing red, his beta gold, small whimpers coming from them both. Laura cuts him a sharp look, but doesn’t say anything. His dad stands nearby his eldest daughter, hugging her sideways. Derek tells himself he isn’t hurt by their reactions. 

Peter growls, deep and longing, filled with anger. He makes a quick getaway, already on his phone, dodging from everyone but Derek’s touch. Derek squeezes his hand in what he hopes is a soothing manner. 

Peter didn’t rip out anyone’s neck, so that’s a good start. Derek thinks there might have been some merit to Peter claiming he wasn’t in his right mind when he’d killed Laura. 

“Okay. I know I’m a scientist and all, but can someone please tell me what the fuck happened just now? Tal, what’s happened to our son, and why did you change your mind about giving Peter back his memories?” His dad snaps after a long silence. Well, not exactly silence, since they can all hear Peter talking to his lawyer demanding to see his kids as soon as possible. Derek has no idea how he even knows who his kids are, but he’s Peter.  Of course he knows.

Somethings are just meant to be the way they are. 

“You both should sit down for this,” His mom murmurs, drained from the small ritual she just did. Derek helps her sit down, the others following suit. 

Derek has no idea how to start. Should he just-?

“Before Derek says anything, I suggest that Talia let us in on the Alpha Hale secret.” Peter says, coming in silently, his cold smirk on display. Derek knows this is his uncle’s way of hiding his emotions. He wonders whether the Peter he knew -- the one that disregarded him as everything but an ally in hard times -- wasn't cold and distant and as psycho as he’d made them all believe, but simply someone who had shut himself down after too many years of bullshit.

Laura straightens at the mention of Alpha Hale, and Derek whines low in his throat at the sudden assault of memory: Laura, young and crying and broken Laura, howling with the sudden surge of power in her, her senses getting sharper and more accurate amongst the ruin of their home and pack. 

“Derek?” His dad settles his warm hand on his neck; despite the mistrust he’d been showing earlier, Derek is still his son. Anyone would weaken at the grief that was laced with the whine he’d made. 

Clearing his throat, he says, “Peter, if you won’t mind, could you?”

“Could I what?” Peter asks back, and it’s eerie how much it’s like the Peter he knew. 

“Don’t bullshit me, Peter William Hale. I know you somehow know all about the prophecy. Enlighten the others,” 

Peter bows down to him, mutters, “Yes, Alpha.” and starts to tell the tale. It is surprisingly quick and without any of the drama he’d feared. Instead, Derek looks at his sister and father for  their reactions. 

His dad hugs him pretty tight and doesn’t let him go for a long time. His mom hugs in on the spontaneous cuddle fest, and even Peter asks if it’s okay with Derek before joining in. Derek’s not too sure the couch can hold them all, with their wolfy strength. 

“Laura,” his mom mutters. 

Laura doesn’t respond. Derek knows how much it meant to her to be the Alpha; she’d always gushed about it, and she had worked hard to become as good as their mother. As good as their mom supposedly was. So, he says, “I’m sorry. I know you wanted to be the Alpha-”

“When did I die?” she asks, turning towards the puppy pile, as Stiles would call it. “When did we all?”

“You shouldn’t-” his dad starts, but Derek is so shocked, so hurt by the accusation in Laura’s voice, he can’t help it. He speaks. And it shuts Laura up. 

“Around my 16 th birthday, my first girlfriend -- my first love -- died because the bite didn’t take. I killed her in mercy, and my eyes became blue. Mom took my memory of killing her away. I still felt like something was missing. I was distant. Alone. Then an older woman showed interest in me, made me believe she truly did care for me, used me. She turned out to be Kate Argent. She burnt our home down on the night of the Supermoon, and only me and Laura survived. Peter was alive too, but he was comatose. Laura decided we had to leave, so we left him behind. Six years later Laura came back here and was killed by a rogue Alpha. If you’re looking for a timeline, then I was 17 and you were 19 when our pack burnt to death. You were 25 when you died. You had done your masters and kept forcing me to do too, and I was in my last year before- before.” His voice is  deceptively flat throughout, breaking only in the end. 

Derek looks at Peter. He can’t look at Laura, or mom, or dad. He hasn’t seen them in years. Peter, though. He’s seen his uncle. Maybe not in years, but more recently than the others, in any case. 

Peter looks green in the face. Derek can guess about what. 

“Kate and Gerard, her father, and Victoria Argent -- Chris Argent’s wife -- are the psychos of the family. Only them.” 

Peter looks at him, then away. He breaks from the pile and rushes to his own bedroom. They let him go. 

His dad makes his mom go to their room, too. She needs time. So does his dad. Derek kisses them both on their hair and scent-marks them before they go, though. 

Laura doesn’t look at him for the next half-an-hour, but she sits close to him. It’s not exactly a puppy pile, nor a proper cuddle, but it’s something close. Something like the soothing Laura, good Laura, he knows. 

“I don’t know what to say,” Laura says, finally. Derek would have been content in silence, just basking in the scent of his once-Alpha, his sister, his pack. 

“Just trust me.” He says, eyes stinging with tears. He’s been emotional a lot today; it’s not  every day you reset time, so he thinks this reaction is fine. 

Laura finally hugs him, the way she’d always done. Even when he’d grown taller than her, she would hug him like this: bring his face towards her neck, his arms on her waist. Her arms running up and down his back in comfort, her mouth saying comforting words. She’d then kiss him on his hair, softly, and scent-mark him. 

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry for how I acted earlier.” 

“You don’t have to be. You were right to be like that,”

“What, untrusting of my baby brother?” 

He gives her a wry grin. “I am not your baby brother anymore.”

Laura forces herself to relax, then smile. Derek smiles genuinely at her efforts. “How old are you? And oh, who is this Heart of yours?”

Derek blushes. He’d always wanted Laura and Stiles to meet. She would have liked him. She still might. “He’s older than you too,” he says vaguely. 

She smiles. “You finally figured it out, huh?” 

He frowns. “I don’t like guys, if that’s what you mean.” Her smile withers. She sputters. Derek decides to have mercy on her. “I do love him. He  _ is  _ my Heart,” he says, and laughs as his sister’s confusion grows. “I don’t like guys. Or girls. I like the soul.” When she still doesn’t get it, he looks at the floor, says shyly, “I am demisexual.” He hasn’t confessed this to anyone but Stiles so far. And Lydia, who had helped him figure it out. She’d been good to him even though he knew she kind of hated him for having stolen Stiles from her. 

He still isn’t sure why she broke up with Stiles. Stiles did love her, he always would. Her reason was that she didn’t think they’d work out, not in the long run. They were both too stubborn for that. Too alike, in some manners. Too different, in others. He still sometimes thinks she’d known about their feelings for each other even before they themselves did. 

“I don’t know what it means,” Laura confesses, and Derek looks back at her. “But how you’re saying it... it’s about the person inside, right? Whatever makes you happy,  _ baby  _ brother.” He shoves her playfully. She giggles and runs behind the couch. Then she sobers up and says seriously, “I know more things happened. As much as I hate it, I know just your one pack dying won’t push you and him to reset time.” She still looks bewildered at the idea, but you never disagree with Peter. Well, the Peter from now. “So, I am happy you two found each other. Unless it was in a bad situation? No, you know what, still happy. If this is how grumpy you usually are, I am super happy you found him.” Derek doesn’t tell her it was her dead body that brought them together. He doesn’t want to get more emotional right now. And also, he’s super tired. 

“Actually, I’m less grumpy than usual,” he says, and sees Laura’s face sadden. “Not your fault. Plus, now I have you back. All of you.” He smiles. Laura nods, then asks him if he’ll sleep in her room tonight. Derek wants to, but he declines. His ears burn as he mumbles, “Um, I kind of sleep better with Stiles,”

Laura gives him a look and then laughs. “I don’t know whether I should laugh at that ridiculous name or at what you just said, at least this hasn’t changed,” 

Derek says goodbye and then asks his mom for her phone, messaging Claudia to please help with the Sheriff. On the way to Stiles’ home, which he walks to, he thinks over everything. 

Peter has his memories back. He now knows he wasn’t rejected because of who he is, so there would be no manipulation by him regarding Paige. Not that Derek could fall in love with her again; a small part of him wants to care for her, but not in that manner. A larger part of him insists it’s better if she doesn’t know about the truth. The  Nemeton might devise a plan to make her its sacrifice. 

Malia won’t ever kill her mom and sister, because she hopefully would be in control by then. It’s only May, so there’s six months before the accident occurred. That also gives them a location on Corrine; Malia had revealed to them, one night, the truth about the ‘accident.’ Maybe they could bring Braeden in for this. She  _ had  _ been after the Desert Wolf for years. 

Jackson will be brought in the fold early; it’s not like the last time they tried to keep him away from the truth they had succeeded. Plus this  time he’ll know the real reason he’s adopted, and not have the ultimate angst of  _ Why did my parents not want me? I’ll prove to them I’m perfect in all ways.  _ He still thinks Jackson’s parents should have told him about how his real parents were dead, and not that he was given up for adoption. But then he’s not even sure if the parents even knew that Jackson knew. 

He hopes Peter would be good to them. Peter  _ had  _ come around for Malia. 

He broods all the way to Stiles. He grimaces when he remembers what Laura said:  _ If this how grumpy you usually are.  _ He was smiling then! More so than usual. Has he really changed this much? It’s a good thing he’s decided to try the whole honesty thing then, he would have never pulled off the happy act. But he also smiles when he realizes he’s been smiling more since he’s come back; it has simply been one day, and he’s already better than before. He thinks he can truly start to heal now, let himself knit back his soul together. 

Claudia has kept her end of the promise; The Sheriff is in his room when Derek reaches the unassuming home. Though it just might be because it’s late at night. Even Stiles is asleep when he curls up around him on the tiny bed. 

All the tension, the stress, melts when he’s with Stiles. The small banter that they have settles something inside him, reminds him that even when the whole world around him changes, this one thing he has in his life, it will be constant. Forever. 

Stiles is his forever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, yes, you caught me. I was just so damn excited for y'all to read this that I obsessed over this. I did say 24 hours... hope a day late isn't bad? Hehehehe. <3

**Author's Note:**

> [ My Tumblr! ](http://whenwordsmakesense.tumblr.com)  
> Come find me and talk to me about YOUR ideas. I may or may not write them, depending on my muse and a deadly disease known as writer's block, which finds me quite often. Writing something different helps me out, is what I've learnt is my remedy. So really, it's a win-win situation, you get to read more and I get to write more! :)


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